


a series of moments

by sheisraging



Series: little windows [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Christmas, Cooking, Domestic, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Pets, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheisraging/pseuds/sheisraging
Summary: A series of stories, somewhat connected, from Summer through Winter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to [Ignited](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ignited/pseuds/ignited) for the beta read!
> 
> This fic started as a series of vignettes, all based on replies to various Tumblr Inbox Fic Meme Asks and wound up turning into this thing that's been a WIP for almost a year and is somehow 12k long. I don't know what happened. It was supposed to be a short series of Summer stories. Oops.
> 
> Also, this is dedicated to [kissedxbyxfire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kissedxbyxfire/pseuds/kissedxbyxfire), who recently drew [lovely fan art](http://kissedbifire.tumblr.com/post/158239289793/just-in-time-for-buckys-100th-birthday-heres) based on Little Windows. . :P

The calendar invites pop up while Steve’s in the middle of replying to a text from Natasha. He frowns, swiping out of the message and into the other application.

This coming Saturday, there’s an appointment for **Beginner’s Tennis** , 10-11:00 AM at Mill Pond Park. Steve frowns at his phone and keeps scrolling until he sees the another appointment he has no recollection of making: **Sex on the Table: Couples Cooking Class, Sensual Salsas and More** , 7-8:00 PM at 306 W 51st Street on the 3rd Floor.

He re-reads them a few times, just to be sure, and then takes two screenshots and texts Bucky with the pictures attached.

 **Steve:** _???_

 **Bucky:** _?_

 **Steve:** _Did you put these in my calendar?_

 **Bucky:** _Yeah._

Steve watches as the bubble indicating that Bucky is typing pops up and disappears several times before the next message comes through.

 **Bucky:** _We don’t have to go if you don’t want to._

Steve looks at the classes in his calendar again and takes a few seconds to process the idea that Bucky signed them up for social activities outside of their usual comfort zone and known associates.

 **Steve:** _No, no, I do. Sounds fun. Just surprised is all._

 **Bucky:** _You sure?_

 **Steve:** _Positive. Where are you, anyway?_

A few seconds later, Steve receives a photo of Bucky smirking into the mirror in the locker room at the Tower gym, wet hair plastered to his cheeks and clinging to his neck, his torso covered in sweat, and a towel slung so low on his hips that it’s a miracle it’s still on.

 **Bucky:** _Guess._

Steve quickly saves the photo to the private folder on his phone.

 **Steve:** _Hurry back._

\---

When they arrive for their tennis lesson, it’s obvious that Bucky registered under a fake name. The instructor, Dan, is clearly a professional, and probably very put together under normal circumstances, but he takes one look at Steve and Bucky and goes red in the face, fumbling around the basic stances and swings.

Bucky chuckles and knocks Steve in the shoulder as he politely agrees to sign autographs and take a photo before they leave for the day. It’s the least he can do after busting through the strings of his racquet on the first serve.

They both wind up taking to the game with ease and Dan gives them a free hour of court time to play against one another.

It starts out as good fun — they laugh, hitting the ball back and forth and enjoying the game, but eventually, their competitive streaks rear their heads and the game heats up. Serves come with just enough force to not crack the court or bust another racquet, swings are met with loud grunts and yells, out of bounds shouts and scores are fought over and it’s a good thing Dan’s put them in a private area or this would probably wind up on TMZ.

When the hour is up, Dan comes in to let them know he has to release the court to the next pair and leaves them a few minutes to clean up and clear out. They’ve both broken a sweat and have a tied score.

“Good game,” Steve grins. “We should do it again.”

He spins the racquet, sets it in the stand off to the side, and starts walking toward the locker room as he calls over his shoulder. “Since we both know how this one would have ended.”

Bucky lifts his eyebrows. He bounces a ball off the court and swings his racquet, landing the ball squarely against Steve’s right ass cheek with a satisfying thud.

Steve squawks loudly, hand flying to his rear and clutching his sore cheek. He winces and rubs frantically at his backside, turning around to see Bucky chuckling to himself as he puts his racquet away.

“Still feeling cocky?” Bucky smirks as he sidles past Steve.

Steve gapes at him for a few seconds before giving chase.

It’s a half an hour drive from the Tennis Center to City Island, and they shockingly manage to make it all the way home before tearing each other’s clothes off. Steve’s quite positive that a locker room fuck _definitely_ would have wound up on TMZ.

\---

The cooking class is two weekends later.

They take public transportation to avoid parking, but with all the transfers, they’re still ten minutes late. The rest of the class is busy helping each other on with their aprons. Steve takes one look around the room and drops his head as Bucky comes up to stand beside him with a grin.

“Gentlemen,” the instructor, a kind-faced old woman, approaches them with a confused but smiling face. “As much as we’d love to have you, I believe you’re in the wrong class.”

Bucky pulls up the confirmation e-mail on his phone and holds it out.

“Isn’t this the ‘Sex on the Table Couples Cooking Class’?” he asks. “‘Sensual Salsas and More’?” 

He waves to the rest of the curious attendees around the room—none of whom seem to be under the age of 75—and hands his phone to the instructor. 

Steve flushes, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Well,” the instructor notes, looking down at Bucky’s phone, “I suppose you are in the right place, then. I thought they’d set an age restriction on this class,” she laments with a sigh. 

She hands Bucky’s phone back to him and reaches over to give them each an apron from the wall rack. 

“I’m Señora Vega. You two can use the table over there,” she gestures toward a table in the back of the room. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Steve nods, taking the aprons and following Bucky toward the back table. 

“You signed up with our actual birthdates?” Steve asks quietly once they’ve collected all of their supplies and tied on their aprons. 

Bucky shrugs, “I didn’t think it mattered so much. It’s not like they’re gonna make a big deal about it.” 

Steve looks around and notices two elderly women at the next table smiling in their direction. They wink and wave when they catch Steve’s eye. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Steve says. He smiles politely and waves back at them. 

Bucky tilts his head in the direction of the women and breaks out the smile he used to reserve for scoring dates in the 30s. 

“Are we here to learn or flirt?” Steve asks, tossing Bucky a tomato. 

Bucky catches it easily and places it onto the cutting board in front of him. “Jealous?” 

Steve snorts and opens his mouth to reply, but is silenced by the instructor clearing her throat and staring pointedly in his direction. 

“If you boys are not truly here to learn, I’ll need to ask that you leave my kitchen,” she says, pointing a chef’s knife in Steve’s direction. 

“Already getting us in trouble,” Bucky whispers, corner of his mouth tilted up in a sly grin. 

“Shut up and slice the damn tomato, Barnes,” Steve mutters back, placing an onion on his own cutting board. 

Within moments, Bucky’s tomato is shredded mush and Steve has tears cascading down his cheeks from having touched the onion and then rubbed at his already watering eyes. 

“Told you not to— Would you at least put the knife down when you rub your stupid eyes,” Bucky grumbles, taking the knife out of Steve’s hand. 

“Buck, would ya—” Steve waves around, reaching blindly for a paper towel and sighs when a cool, wet, and blissfully onion-free compress is pressed against his eyes. 

“Such soft skin,” coos the voice of an elderly woman from somewhere in the vicinity of Steve’s chest. “Edna, feel this!” 

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Steve tries when a warm, knobby hand is pressed to his cheek. 

“Ooh, yes,” a second voice chimes in. “Very nice, Helen.” 

Steve can hear Bucky’s barely concealed chuckling somewhere to his left. He presses the compress against his eyes for a second and then moves it away, blearily squinting one eye open. He looks down at the two old women caressing his face. They smile up at him adoringly and Steve does his best to put on the schoolboy charm. 

“Thank you, ladies, you’ve saved me.” He manages to open both eyes and hand back the compress. “Steve,” he says, extending his hand. 

The shorter of the two women clasps his hand in both of hers. 

“Edna,” she says, squeezing his hand twice and then letting go. 

Steve smiles and offers his hand to the other woman. 

“Helen,” she says, giving his hand a gentle shake. 

Behind the two old women, Bucky continues mutilating vegetables, shaking his head and smirking. 

“We’re not usually this helpless in the kitchen,” Steve shrugs. 

The women laugh and wave their hands at him. “My husband used to say the same thing,” Edna chuckles, “You’re not helpless. You need to get used to the weight of the knives.” 

Bucky lifts an eyebrow in amusement. 

“Look,” Helen turns and points at Bucky, who straightens up and sits at attention. “That grip is too tight for a chef’s knife. You can’t chop a tomato like that. Here, let me show you—” 

She nudges Bucky’s arm and places her hand over his metal one, holding the knife with him. Bucky freezes and looks up at Steve, then at Helen. 

“Loosen up, my boy, war injuries are nothing I haven’t seen before,” Helen says when Bucky hesitates. “Don’t be afraid of a little old lady.” 

Bucky nods, giving her a small grin and relaxing his hand. Together they pierce and then gently begin slicing into a new tomato. 

By the time the class is over, they’ve managed a three-course meal and enough salsa to last them at least a week, which is relatively impressive. They thank Edna and Helen for their coaching—and minor admonishments—and help the women carry their leftovers out to their car. 

Their own bags of leftovers are not heavy, but they are cumbersome, so they wind up having JARVIS send a car from the Tower to drive them home. 

Bucky relaxes on the drive, eyes closed and head tilted back against the seat rest, a faint smile on his lips. 

Steve quietly reaches into the shopping bag he’s stowed at his feet, pulling out the Tupperware container of salsa and unrolling the oil-soaked bag of tortilla chips. He sighs happily when he crunches into the first chip and is reaching for a second when the warmed metal of Bucky’s hand clamps around his wrist. 

“It's so good,” Steve mumbles with his mouth still full. 

“I was gonna eat that later,” Bucky complains. 

“Buck, there’s at least ten pounds of salsa. You could swim in it later if you wanted to.” 

Bucky side-eyes him. “You and I both know you’re more than capable of eating that entire container by yourself before we even cross the bridge.” 

Staring at Bucky, Steve slowly reaches into the bag and takes another chip. 

“Don’t do it,” Bucky warns. 

Steve dips the chip, still not breaking eye contact. 

Bucky flares his nostrils and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. “Rogers.” 

Maintaining his deliberate slowness, Steve puts the entire chip into his mouth, crunching down loudly and keeping his eyes on Bucky the entire time. 

Steve grins as he chews and reaches into the bag for another chip, repeating the same exaggerated slowness as before. As he’s lifting the salsa-heavy chip toward his mouth, Bucky quickly slaps the underside of Steve’s hand. 

The chip crunches against Steve’s forehead, pieces breaking off and falling, along with the globs of salsa, onto Steve’s nose, cheek, and lap. 

Bucky covers his mouth, laughing at the stunned look on Steve’s face. 

“Really?” Steve crows, still pinching a small corner of broken corn chip between his fingers. 

Bucky shrugs. “I warned you.” 

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he tosses the piece of chip at Bucky’s face. “No, you did not warn me.” 

\---

“Hey,” Steve gently nudges the top of his foot against he back of Bucky’s calf. 

Bucky sighs, shifting back against Steve beneath the blanket. “Mmmph.” 

“You awake?” Steve murmurs. 

“Nnngh,” Bucky grunts in reply. 

“Okay, never mind,” Steve whispers, and presses a kiss against Bucky’s neck. 

“Spit it out, Rogers,” Bucky mumbles. “I was in the middle of a pretty good dream.” 

Steve grins, sliding his mouth along Bucky’s shoulder and pressing in closer. “Yeah?” 

“Mmhmm,” Bucky murmurs. “Had a full tray of Señora Vega’s enchiladas all to myself.” 

Steve blows a raspberry against Bucky’s skin and laughs. “It’s not important. Go back to sleep.” 

Bucky lets out a deep breath and rolls over, throwing his leg over Steve’s hip before Steve can roll onto his back. 

“Ask.” 

“It’s really nothing important,” Steve groans. 

Tightening the grip of his thigh, Bucky lifts his eyebrows and pulls Steve closer. 

“You know,” Steve says, lips brushing Bucky’s nose. “This is counterproductive to your goals.” 

Bucky snorts. “So ask your damn question and we’ll set new goals.” 

Steve sighs. “I really liked the classes, Buck. Thank you.” 

“Did you wake me up to thank me for dragging you a tennis lesson and a cooking class?” He mutters. “‘Cause there are better reasons to wake me up. They involve bacon and coffee. And your mouth on my dick. And a—” 

Steve cuts him off, laughing as he clamps a hand over Bucky’s mouth. 

“Shut up,” Steve huffs and drops his hand. “Would you—Is it something you want to do more of? I never thought to— I mean, I could look for—” 

Bucky silences Steve with his lips instead of his hand, leaning in for a kiss that quickly becomes more distracting than intended. He eventually pulls back and observes Steve with a smirk. 

“What?” Steve croaks. 

“Stop thinking so much, Rogers, you’ll hurt yourself.” 

Steve flicks the top of Bucky’s ear in response. 

Bucky sighs and then shrugs. “We never really got to do any of that date night stuff. Just thought it might be nice.” 

“Date night.” Steve squints at him. “So… you’re courting me?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’ve discovered my evil scheme. Will you be my steady?” 

“I’ll give it some serious thought,” Steve deadpans. 

He pushes Bucky onto his back and rolls on top of him, pausing just before their lips touch. “Am I supposed to be putting out this much after only two dates?” 

Bucky snorts. “That’s stopped you before?” 

Steve bites back a smirk. “Still, I should probably—” 

He starts to roll away, but Bucky locks his ankles around Steve’s waist and rolls with him. 

Steve’s laughing as Bucky settles on top of him. 

“You’re a real wise ass, you know?” Bucky says, leaning down to rest his forearms on either side of Steve’s head. 

Steve reaches down to palm Bucky’s ass, grinding their hips together. “I’ve been told.” 

\---

Bucky frowns at the fourteen calendar invites that have popped up on his phone. He turns off the faucet and wanders out of the bathroom with his toothbrush still hanging out of his mouth. 

“Are we becoming full-time students?” Bucky asks, as he swipes through and looks at the classes Steve’s booked them into. 

Steve grunts and rolls over onto his back, holding his phone over his face. He turns and flashes a sleepy grin in Bucky’s direction. 

“Technically, it’s only one class,” Steve says.

Bucky pulls his toothbrush out of his mouth. “I’m sure Señora Vega will be thrilled to have us.” 

“Toothpaste mouth is a good look on you,” Steve chuckles. 

Bucky winks and turns to head back into the bathroom. 

“What happens if we have to miss one?” Bucky calls out, reaching for the faucet. 

“There are make-up classes,” Steve answers, slipping into the room and flipping up the toilet seat to pee. 

“Don’t forget to put that down when you’re done,” Bucky says, pointing his toothbrush at Steve. “Roscoe keeps trying to drink out of there.” 

Steve nods and yawns. 

Bucky shoves his toothbrush back into his mouth. “They really just let you make up classes?” 

“Well, we are paying them, so yeah, within reason,” Steve says. He flips the toilet seat down and flushes.

“You think our schedule fits that criteria?” Bucky asks with a smirk.

Steve chuckles and shrugs as he washes his hands. “I did make sure to check with the enrollment office, given the circumstances. We can either be refunded at the end for the classes missed, or find other courses to sit in on that work for us.”

Bucky nods, leaning forward to spit into the sink once Steve has moved out of the way. “Sounds good to me.”

“Glad you think so,” Steve grins, taking his toothbrush off the counter. “If we miss something, we can always checkout a different kind of class and pay the difference if it’s more.”

“Might be nice to have some variety in our repertoire,” Bucky nods.

“You gonna shower?” Steve asks around his toothbrush.

“You go,” Bucky says, voice muffled by the towel he’s rubbing over his face. “Gonna make coffee and let the dog out. You want an omelet?”

Steve nods and leans forward to scoop water into his mouth and rinse. “Yeah,” he replies. “Sausage, cheese, and—“ 

“Hot peppers, I know.” Bucky grins and swats Steve’s ass before slipping out of the room. 

\---

“Right, like this is in any way probable,” Clint laughs. 

Bucky mumbles something beneath his breath and drops his head back against Steve’s shoulder. 

Clint carries on, getting more animated as he goes. “Nobody could ever really have survived this. C’mon.” 

Bucky feels Steve’s shoulder shake slightly beneath his head and tilts back a bit to see him mid-eye roll. Bucky lifts an eyebrow and Steve just shakes his head. 

“We should have ordered those Bluetooth earphones,” Steve whispers. 

Chuckling, Bucky reaches up and softly flicks Steve’s nose. 

“I mean, it’s a dumpster and there’s hundreds of them. He fell right in. Right?” Clint smacks Sam’s shoulder for the fifteenth time tonight. 

“Right?” 

Sam takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and lets it out. 

“Barton, man, you have been talking a blue-fucking-streak from the minute this shit started. Would you shut the hell up?” 

Clint opens and closes his mouth, then exhales heavily through his nose. “Hey man, all you had to do was ask.” 

“That’s what I’m doin’,” Sam grumbles. 

“Didn’t realize you guys were all so into it,” Clint continues to mutter. “Could’ve mentioned something–” 

“Dude,” Sam shakes his head. “Do you need it in writing?” 

“All right,” Clint cracks. “Stop being a big vagina.” 

Sam’s about to reply, but just tilts his head as a quiet falls over the room. 

Bucky chews at the inside of his cheek, lifts an eyebrow and turns back to the TV with a slight shake of his head. 

“What?” Clint mutters. 

Bucky shrugs. 

“What?” Clint asks again. 

Bucky shakes his head again. 

Clint huffs and turns back around only to be instantly kicked, hard in the face by Natasha. 

“Holy fu– aughh“ Clint clamps his hands over his face. 

“That,” Bucky says, still facing the TV. 

“Jesus, Nat,” Clint groans, muffled by the hem of his t-shirt as he holds it to his bleeding nose. “I think you broke it.” 

“It’ll heal,” Natasha calmly replies. 

“What the hell was that for?” 

Natasha scoops a handful of popcorn out of the bowl on the table. “JARVIS, playback audio starting one minute seventeen seconds ago, please.” 

“Certainly, Agent Romanov,” JARVIS replies.

“No, nope, that’s not—” Clint says, haltingly. “I get it. Sorry.” 

“Shall I commence playback, Agent Romanov?” JARVIS asks.

“No, thank you, JARVIS. We’re fine.” 

Bucky jolts when his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. He digs it out and swipes at the calendar reminder that’s popped up, smirking as he reads through it. 

“Looks like we need to get going,” he murmurs to Steve. 

“Wouldn’t want to get the bad aprons again,” Steve agrees. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky notes as he pushes up from the sofa. “And you just wanna make time with Helen and Edna.” 

“You’re just jealous ‘cause they’re the teacher’s pets instead of you,” Steve grins. 

Sam looks up as Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and pulls him from the sofa with an exaggerated grunt. “You guys headin’ out?” 

Steve turns out his palms in apology. “We have a previous engagement.” 

“Oh yeah,” Natasha smirks, her eyes never leaving the television screen. “What’s more important than team bonding?” 

Bucky looks around the room. “Almost half the team is missing.” 

“You’re evading,” Natasha murmurs. 

“You’re nosy,” Steve replies. 

\---

Steve's just managed to sink down into the jacuzzi and close his eyes when his phone starts ringing. He groans, loudly, since nobody is around to hear it other than Roscoe, who just tilts her head and goes back to attacking her Kong.  

"Buck?" He tries, but the door is closed and music is playing. Super hearing is not that super.  

His phone rings again. Steve reluctantly lifts his head from the lip of the tub and glares. He lets the ringing continue until he knows the call must have gone into voicemail and drops his head back against the tub, sighing happily. 

A few seconds later, he hears the slide of the kitchen window. Steve squints one eye open and sees Bucky leaning over the sill. 

“Hey,” Bucky calls over the music and bubbling of the jacuzzi. “How come you didn’t answer your phone?” 

“That was you?” Steve’s brow furrows in. “Why are you calling me from inside the house?” 

Bucky opens his mouth to answer, but before he can say anything, the door to the deck slides open and Sam strolls out in his swim trunks and a smile. He tosses a towel onto one of the deck chairs and waves toward the window where Bucky is watching Steve with a knowing smirk. 

“Hey, man. Bucky said you were out here and the tub was on,” Sam says. “Don’t know how you do this when it’s hot as balls outside, but I’m gonna give it a shot.” 

“That’s why,” Bucky calls out. He winks at Steve, then leans back into the house and slides the window shut. 

Sam sits down at the edge of the tub and scoots into the water with a sigh. He stretches his arms out along the ledge and tilts his head back. 

“Okay,” Sam mutters. “Okay. I can see why you guys like this thing so much.” 

“Mmhmm,” Steve grunts, casually moving across the tub from Sam and stretching his arms out as well. 

“Was I right?” Bucky asks, padding out onto the deck in swim trunks he’d otherwise never bother with. 

“Naked as the day he was born,” Sam chuckles. 

Steve shakes his head, chewing at the inside of his cheek while Bucky slips into the tub beside him. 

“What’s this playlist called?” Sam grins, opening his eyes and rolling his head toward Bucky. “Sexy Steve’s Solo Jacuzzi Jams?” 

Steve drops his head. “I wasn’t expecting company.” 

“We’ve been in a locker room together, Steve,” Sam shrugs, still grinning. “At this point it ain’t like I haven’t seen it.” 

Steve rubs a wet hand over his face and nods. 

“And let’s not pretend I haven’t been sitting right next to your man on a tiny plane when you’re texting him I miss yous and dick pics.” 

Bucky makes a vaguely apologetic face and shrugs when Steve gapes at him. 

“Don’t worry,” Sam waves. “I’ve seen his, too.” He closes his eyes again. “I’ve just resigned myself to having more superdick in my life than necessary.” 

“So,” Steve says after a few seconds of comfortable silence. “Who impressed you the most?” 

Sam can hear the smirk on Steve’s face and doesn’t bother to open his eyes. He waits to hear Steve chuckle and open his mouth to speak again, and then sends a handful of water flying toward him. Bucky snorts and sinks down against the wall of the tub. 

“I think maybe I’m the winner,” Bucky reasons. 

“Don’t think I don’t got a splash for you, too, Barnes,” Sam mutters. 

\---

“Oh my God,” Sam groans, crunching down on another tortilla chip heaped full of salsa. He grunts when the salsa drips off and onto his wrist, chasing it noisily with his mouth. 

“Oh man, is there, mmmh—” Sam holds his hand out for the new bowl of salsa Bucky is carrying over to the table. “Yup, bring that over here. Right over here.” 

He groans again, shoveling two heaping chips into his mouth at once. “Are there strawberries in this?” 

Bucky hands Steve one of the cold beer bottles he’s got hooked between his knuckles and nods at Sam in amusement. 

“Do I sound like that when I’m—” 

“Making sweet love to your food?” Steve smirks. “Yes.” 

Bucky nods, settling into the seat beside Steve and taking a swig from his own beer. “Good to know.” 

“And yes, those are strawberries,” Steve says, tilting his chin toward Sam. 

“Okay,” Sam begins, then shakes his head and holds up a finger while he chomps down another three chips. 

Steve lifts an eyebrow, watching Sam with an amused grin. 

“Mmmph, okay,” Sam takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “I gotta stop. I gotta take a break.” 

Bucky reaches out to grab a chip from the bowl that has moved from the center of the table to right in front of Sam’s plate. Sam watches the arc of Bucky’s hand as it moves from the chips, to the salsa, to Bucky’s mouth. 

“There’s more, right?” Sam asks, when Bucky grabs a handful of chips and leans back in his chair. 

Steve laughs. 

“No, for real, when did you two develop kitchen based super powers?” Sam grins. 

“Ah, Sam, you know how it goes,” Steve chuckles over the lip of his bottle. 

“Yeah, how’s that?” 

Steve’s eyes slide toward Bucky, who just shakes his head and laughs. 

“We could tell you,” Steve says. “But we’d have to kill you.” 

Steve catches the chip Sam tosses at his face, crunching into it with a wide smile. 

\---

“Think it’s too late to start a vegetable garden?” Bucky asks. 

Steve frowns. “It’s still pretty warm.” 

“Summer’s almost over, though.” 

“Well here,” Steve reaches for his tablet. “Let’s look it up.” 

Bucky leans forward so he can see the screen as Steve swipes through different search results. 

“Looks like there’s still some stuff we can start now,” Steve mutters as he reads. 

“Carrots could be good,” Bucky nods. “Spinach, peas.” 

Steve scrolls further down the page. “Cauliflower. We could do tomatoes indoors and maybe do a plant outside next year.” 

“Probably too late for any fruit, but we can clear some space for spring.” 

“Oh hey, beans,” Steve says with a grin. 

“So you can turn the entire house into a dutch oven? Pass.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not that bad.” 

“Says you,” Bucky snorts. “Pretty sure the missing ingredient in my serum is gas powder.” 

“You’re an ass,” Steve says, shoving the side of Bucky’s head. 

Bucky looks out at the yard. “So what do you think? Yes? No?” 

Steve nods. “Let’s do it. Should probably do some more research though. We don’t wanna wind up with an accidental farm.” 

Bucky’s eyes light up. “Hey—” 

“No,” Steve laughs. 

“Could be fun,” Bucky grins. “Some chickens. Oh,” he smacks the back of his hand against Steve’s chest. “A cow!” 

Steve throws his head back and laughs harder. “Sure, Buck. Let’s get a cow. Roscoe needs a friend.” 

“We’d learn valuable new skills.” 

Steve nods. “Oh, definitely.” 

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Bucky grins. 

Steve shakes his head and snorts. “Yup.” 

“Right,” Bucky says, taking the tablet and swiping to a new tab. “Should probably do some dog safety checking.” 

“That, too.” 

They drift into an easy silence, heads tilted together as they read. After a while, Steve rubs his eyes and leans back in his chair. He kicks his feet up on the table and watches Roscoe chase her ball around on the grass for a bit, then turns back to watch Bucky still browsing gardening websites. 

“I’m not gonna come home from a mission and find a cow in the yard, am I?” 

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up. “Come on, Rogers, you know I can’t answer that.”

\---

A few mornings later, Steve comes back from his run and finds a cow magnet on the refrigerator. 

“Cute,” he snorts, smacking Bucky on the ass as he walks out of the kitchen. “Subtle.” 

Bucky shrugs noncommittally and goes back to stirring his coffee. 

The cookie jar shows up at the end of August — a cow in a pink bikini sitting on the counter just beside the coffee maker. Steve lifts the lid and it moos loudly. 

“You could have at least baked,” he says, peering into the empty jar. 

“We haven’t taken that class, yet,” Bucky replies. 

Two weeks later, a stack of books appears on Bucky’s nightstand. Steve lifts the first one off the pile and snorts. 

“ _Keeping a Family Cow_? Where are we keeping it?” 

Bucky furrows his brow. “It’s just some light reading.” 

“On milk cows and farm living,” Steve counters. 

Bucky shrugs. “I’m a curious guy.” 

Cow-themed clothing starts popping up in Bucky’s wardrobe; Black and white spotted sleep pants, a t-shirt featuring a close-up photo of a cow’s face, socks patterned with cows jumping over the moon. 

In October, Steve comes home from a meeting at the Tower to find Bucky on the sofa in his cow-print pajama pants and Roscoe beside him in a matching t-shirt. 

“You think it’s fucking adorable, don’t even try to deny it.” 

Steve doesn’t. 

The next afternoon, there are five different pairs of cow-print underwear in Steve’s underwear drawer. 

“Thoughtful,” Steve says. 

He hooks one pair up on his finger and flings it at Bucky’s head. Bucky winks as he catches them and tosses them into the pile of laundry he’s folding. 

“You’re welcome.” 

\---

“Okay, wheels up in an hour,” Steve says. 

Natasha nods silently and eyes still on her laptop screen as she types. 

“I’m gonna have Stark do a quick once over on my wings before we go,” Sam says as he rises from his chair. 

Steve frowns. “I thought you were sitting this one out.” 

Sam nods toward the end of the table. “Barton and Barnes are hanging back.” 

“Nat’s intel says there’s no need for snipers and arrows,” Clint confirms. 

“It’s an optics mission right now,” Natasha says. “They’ll probably need to come through on the follow-up, we’re going in pretty visibly.” 

Steve’s eyes slide to Bucky, who just grins mischievously at him. 

“Shit,” Steve mutters. 

Sam pauses. “Something wrong, Cap?” 

Steve sighs. “No.” 

“You sure?” Sam tries. “You look worried.” 

Steve shakes his head. “Barton,” he says, calling Clint’s attention away from the quiet conversation he’s having with Natasha. 

“What’s up?” 

Steve looks around at the confused, expectant faces staring at him. He rolls his eyes at Bucky’s smirk and turns back to Clint. 

“Can you—“ Steve pauses, and then plants a hand on his hip and shakes his head. “Can you please make sure Bucky doesn’t… buy or adopt a cow while I’m gone?” 

There are a few seconds of complete silence while everyone processes what Steve has just said. 

Sam tucks both lips in and drops his head. 

“Oh,” Clint looks from Steve to Bucky and back again. “Cap, you know I can’t do that,” he says, solemnly. 

“Christ,” Steve mutters. 

“Do I even wanna know?” Sam asks. 

“No—“ Steve says. “Can’t you stay?” 

He turns to Nat. “Can’t Sam stay behind and Barton come with us?” 

“We need the air support,” Natasha says. She taps away at her computer for a few seconds before her fingers freeze over the keys and she looks up. 

“Sorry,” she says, haltingly. “Are you seriously discussing the purchase of a cow?” 

“No,” Steve replies. 

At the same time Bucky, Clint, and Sam say, “Yes.” 

“Sirs,” JARVIS’s voice pipes into the room. “Mr. Stark would like to offer his vote in favor of a cow purchase and will lend his aid to Sergeant Barnes in any way he can.” 

“Hey, that’s really kind of him,” Bucky smiles. “JARVIS, please tell Mr. Stark that I say thank you.” 

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes.” 

“JARVIS, please tell Mr. Stark to go fuck himself,” Steve says. “And be ready to leave in 30 minutes.” 

Sam follows Steve from the room. “What, you just said an hour. There’s no way it’s been that long.” 

“Yeah, well, the sooner we leave, the sooner I can get back,” Steve nods at the bag in Sam’s hands. “Better go get those wings inspected.” 

“Shit,” Sam groans, and sprints off down the hall. 

\---

On their return flight, Steve’s phone suddenly jolts with a quick staccato of messages from Bucky. With some minor trepidation, he swipes them open and is instantly sad about the fact that he’s surrounded by his friends and teammates and not alone where he can look at the images in peace. 

And preferably naked. 

Bucky is wearing a weathered pair of denim overalls, buttons on the sides left open so the summer bronzed cut of his hips are obviously visible. His hair is loose beneath a straw hat, and there’s a red bandana stuffed in one of his pockets. He’s smiling around a long piece of straw clamped between is teeth. 

He looks like every farmer stereotype there’s ever been, except— 

“I think I saw a porno like that once,” Tony’s voice cuts through Steve’s reverie like a knife. 

“Tony,” Steve grits through clenched teeth. 

“What,” Tony grins, coming around from behind Steve’s chair to sit across from him. “It’s a saying. It’s also true, but still. People say that. It’s a thing.” 

“Did I hear correctly?” Natasha asks, a slight air of amusement in her tone as she settles onto the arm of Steve’s seat. “Is Steve watching a porno?” 

“Christ,” Steve grumbles at Tony. “You see what you’ve started?”

“Show her the picture,” Tony says, nodding at Steve’s phone. 

Steve rolls his eyes and holds his screen up for Natasha to inspect. Natasha’s lips curve in a tiny smirk. “The photo is great, but the fact that Barton probably took it is even better.” 

Steve quickly tilts the phone back over, taking the time to note the fact that Bucky had to have had a tripod or a timer or both, or, as Natasha mentioned, someone took the photos for him. 

As Steve’s typing out his response, another photo comes through. 

Bucky’s wearing the same outfit in this one, but it’s a selfie this time, and he’s with Clint. They’re both grinning widely with their cheeks pressed up against the face of the cow standing between them. 

**Bucky:** _I’m gonna name her Bessie._

**Steve:** _She can share the bed with you._

**Bucky:** _What if I always dress like this?_

Steve scrolls back up to look at the first photo. 

“You’d say yes,” Natasha says, having read the exchange over his shoulder. 

“No,” Steve murmurs. “Maybe.” 

He looks at that first photo again. “It’s a really good look.” 

“Mmm,” Natasha hums, and slides off the chair. “He should have worn that to the Halloween party.” 

Steve quickly levers himself out of his seat to follow her. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. 

Natasha turns, brows raised in question. 

“Where can I get a ridiculous cow-print thong?” Steve whispers. 

To her credit, Natasha registers only the slightest hint of surprise, one eyebrow lifting slightly higher than the other. 

“Oh,” Steve adds. “Not for me.” 

“Sure, Rogers,” Natasha smirks. “Whatever floats your boat.” 

She pulls out her phone and texts him an address in Manhattan. Steve looks at it for a second, mapping the location, and nods. 

“Thanks, Nat.” 

“A picture is worth a thousand words,” she grins. 

\---

There’s music playing in the yard when Steve gets home. He toes off his sneakers and quietly sets them on the floor in the laundry room, then empties his laundry from his duffel into the wash. He takes a quick peek out the window and sees Bucky soaking in the jacuzzi. Roscoe is sprawled out on her side a few feet from the tub under the shade of a deck chair. 

Steve quickly hurries to the bedroom and unpacks the rest of his bag. Finally, he slips the folded paper shopping bag from his pocket and opens it, letting the thong fall out onto the bed. 

He sneaks another look out to the yard and then tugs open Bucky’s underwear drawer. Steve chuckles to himself as he scoops all of Bucky’s underwear out of the drawer and shoves them into his empty duffel. He neatly arranges the thong, complete with ears and a pink nose, in the center of the drawer, then slides it shut. After a moment’s hesitation, Steve opens his own underwear drawer and empties it, as well, hiding one pair under his pillow for later. 

Taking a last look around to make sure he hasn’t missed anything, Steve nods to himself and shoves the bag under the bed. He strips out of his clothes and deposits them in the wash, wraps a towel around his waist and heads outside. 

Bucky tilts his head back when the door slides open. 

“Hey,” he smiles broadly.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve grins and squats down to greet Roscoe, who’s come trotting over for her welcome home head scratches. 

Bucky turns around, folding his arms over the lip of the tub and resting his chin on them. 

“How was the mission?” 

Steve gives half a shrug. 

“Nothing unexpected,” he gives Roscoe’s scruff one last tousle, pushes back up to his feet and moves toward the jacuzzi. “Looks like you made some headway with the garden.” 

“Some. Moved the kale and the peppers from inside. Even planted some green beans for you.” Bucky glances back over his shoulder, then smiles back at Steve. “The rest of the plants came this morning. Figured we could finish it this weekend. Probably move the spinach out here by then.” 

“Sounds good,” Steve nods. 

Bucky reaches up and wraps a hand around Steve’s calf. “You gonna take that towel off and get in here?” 

Steve laughs and yanks the towel off, tossing it onto a nearby chair. They lose track of time fooling around in the jacuzzi until Steve’s stomach rumbles loud enough for Bucky to roll his eyes and pull away. 

“What the fuck, Steve,” he laughs. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” 

“I grabbed something before we headed out this morning.” Steve shrugs, pulling Bucky back up against him. “It’s fine. C’mere.” 

Bucky settles back for a few more kisses until another loud gurgle sends him back up to his feet. “Nope. Time for dinner.” 

“But—” 

“Relax, Rogers,” Bucky chuckles. “We got all night and plenty of time to make up for.” 

Steve huffs and drags a wet hand over his face and through his hair. “Tell that to my dick,” he mutters. 

Bucky grins. “That dick ain’t gonna do me any good if you pass out from hunger.” 

He grabs Steve’s discarded towel from the chair and wraps it around his waist. 

“Forgot mine when I came out here,” Bucky says with a wink. “I’m gonna run to the deli and get some more chicken. Be back by the time you get out of the shower.” 

Steve nods, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Bucky heads inside. 

He lingers in the jacuzzi for a while longer, expecting Bucky to come back outside and give him shit about the underwear prank. 

A good thirty minutes goes by and Bucky never appears. Steve hauls himself out of the tub and turns off the jets. He calls Roscoe over and goes back inside, quietly closing the door behind them. Bucky is nowhere to be found, and his damp towel is hanging over a chair at the kitchen table. Steve figures he must have grabbed a change of clothes from the laundry room. 

He grabs Bucky’s towel and tosses it into the wash, gets a fresh towel from the linen closet and heads for the shower. 

\---

Every now and again, Steve has to take a moment and remind himself that, for as surprised as the team seems to be every time he pulls one over on them, Bucky was his earliest victim and therefore is not nearly as susceptible. Bucky is also just as much of a jackass as Steve, himself, is. 

He reflects on that as he stands naked in the kitchen, chewing at the inside of his cheek. He's frustrated as hell that every single scrap of clothing and linen in the house has vanished with the exception of one. 

“Buck?” he calls out for the fifth time. 

There’s still no answer. Roscoe tilts her head sympathetically from her observation point on the sofa. 

“I don’t suppose you know where he’s hidden _all of the clothing we own_?” Steve asks, loudly. 

Roscoe thumps her tail against the cushions, but supplies no answer. 

Steve drops his head and sighs. He wanders back into the bedroom and casts another despairing look around. The bed has been stripped of all sheets, his secretly hidden pair of underwear included. Even the rug from the bathroom and the towel he’d brought into the shower with him are gone. 

Steve turns and stares at his underwear drawer, empty, save for the cow thong he’d left in Bucky’s drawer earlier. He throws his hands up and laughs, then reaches in to pull out the thong, revealing a post-it underneath. 

Steve peals the note from the bottom of the drawer, huffing at Bucky’s largely scrawled _Moo_. 

“You’re kidding,” Steve mutters. 

He spares a few seconds to laugh at himself some more as he steps into the thong and hikes it up over his thighs. Once he gets all his bits in place, he turns to face the full-length mirror. 

“This is what you get,” Steve says to his reflection. 

“In all fairness, your mother did warn you,” Bucky says, appearing behind Steve in the mirror. 

Steve’s face splits into a grin. “That she did,” he nods. 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” they both imitate Sarah Rogers in high-pitched unison. 

Steve nods. “Maybe someday I’ll learn my lesson.” 

“Think you’re a lost cause, pal,” Bucky grins, patting him on the ass. 

“How do people wear these?” Steve grimaces, shifting uncomfortably. “Feels so…” 

Bucky bites back a smirk as he watches Steve shuffle back and forth. “Is the ass flexing helping?”

“There’s no way anyone finds this comfortable,” Steve mutters. 

Bucky snorts, turning back toward the door. “You’ve had much larger things up there, pal.” 

Steve lets out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, well, I could say the same about you and you’re not wearing one.” 

Bucky chews at the inside of his cheek. “Fair point.” 

“Besides,” Steve continues. “Things usually go up there with a very specific and pleasurable intent.” 

Bucky winks and gives him a big thumbs up. 

“This is just loitering,” Steve grumbles, tugging at the thong as he follows Bucky out of the room. 

“Christ,” Bucky huffs out. “You sure got a way with words.” 

Steve lets out a surprised laugh. “Hey, can I get a pair of pants before dinner? Or _any_ other underwear?” 

“NOPE,” Bucky calls over his shoulder. 

“Come on,” Steve trails after him. “I left you pants.” 

“I guess that’s the difference between us, Rogers.” 

“That you’re the bigger asshole?” Steve asks, trailing him into the kitchen. 

“No, you’re definitely the bigger asshole.” 

Bucky dodges Steve’s attempt to flick his ear, but has to turn and catch Steve’s other wrist to prevent the incoming head tap. 

“Where did you even hide _all_ of our clothing?” Steve asks, freeing one of his hands and going for Bucky’s ribs. 

“No tickling,” Bucky warns. 

Steve lifts an eyebrow, snorts, and digs his fingers in anyway. 

Bucky loses his grip on Steve’s hand while trying to fend off the attack on his ribs. 

“You look ridiculous,” Bucky grunts, wrenching Steve’s hand away. 

“You love it,” Steve huffs out as they continue taking swipes at one another. 

Bucky laughs, going for a sweep of Steve’s legs. Steve kicks his foot away, sending Bucky into a turn. Steve takes the opportunity to pants him. 

“Hey!” Bucky shouts, though he’s now laughing so hard he can barely get the word out. 

As Bucky’s tugging up his sweatpants, Steve makes a grab for his waist. Bucky spins into it, putting his back to Steve’s front. He grabs Steve’s arm and curls forward, but Steve sees it coming and Bucky is off the ground before he can follow through. 

“Getting predictable, old man,” Steve grunts, hoisting Bucky over his shoulder and heading for the bedroom. 

“Yeah?” Bucky laughs, grabbing a handful of Steve’s bare ass. “What makes you think I don’t have you right where I want you?” 

“Did you turn the oven off?” Steve asks as he tosses Bucky onto the bed.

“Yes, dear,” Bucky chuckles, hooking an ankle around Steve’s hips. 

Steve pitches forward, bracketing his arms on either side of Bucky’s head and settling himself snuggly between Bucky’s thighs. 

“Even greased the runway for ya, big guy,” Bucky smirks. 

“Jesus,” Steve snorts, dropping his head to Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re terrible.” 

Bucky shifts, hitching one of his legs higher around Steve’s waist. “Some might call it considerate.” 

He uses his thigh to pull Steve closer. The movement elicits a groan from both of them as Steve grinds his hips down. 

Steve hisses when Bucky tugs at the band of the thong and lets the elastic snap back against his skin. “You’re lucky that wasn’t any lower.” 

“Take that thing off,” Bucky grunts, biting at Steve’s neck. 

Steve chuckles against Bucky’s mouth. “In a hurry?” 

Bucky pulls at the elastic again, letting it snap harder this time. 

“Fuck,” Steve laughs out. He pulls away and shoves the thong down his legs, off and to the floor. Bucky lifts his hips and shuffles out of his sweatpants and underwear, kicking them over the edge of the mattress. 

“C’mere,” Bucky rasps, running a hand over Steve’s chest. 

Steve raises an eyebrow and stays put. He lifts Bucky’s right leg and presses a kiss to the inside of his ankle. 

“Why the rush?” he murmurs, and continues kissing an incredibly slow trail up Bucky’s calf. 

“Steve,” Bucky warns. 

“Slower?” Steve asks, moving back down toward Bucky’s ankle. 

“Asshole,” Bucky grumbles. 

“Oh, I’ll get there eventually,” Steve replies with a smirk.

“You know—” Bucky starts wriggling as Steve makes his way upwards. 

Steve drags his lips along Bucky’s inner thigh and Bucky sucks in a breath, closing his eyes and stretching his arms up over his head. 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve grins. 

“Hmm?” Bucky sighs. 

“You were going to say something,” Steve chuckles softly. 

“Ahh,” Bucky gasps as Steve begins planting wet kisses at the base of his cock. “Nuh-uh, not important.” 

“You sure?” Steve asks, lifting his head. “We should talk if you wanna talk.” 

“Steve,” Bucky warns, again. 

Steve props his chin up on his palm and looks up at Bucky’s exasperated face. “What’s up, Buck?” 

“Put your mouth back on my dick.” 

“Magic word?” 

“Asshole,” Bucky groans. 

“Now you’re just confusing me,” Steve murmurs. He drags his fist up and down the length of Bucky’s shaft, grinning at the sounds Bucky makes in response. 

“Fuck,” Bucky stutters out. 

“Well,” Steve crawls back up, his body pressed tightly against Bucky’s. “That certainly clears things up.” 

Bucky laughs, slapping both hands down on Steve’s ass and pulling him closer. He grabs the back of Steve’s neck and tugs him into a sloppy kiss, grinding up against him. Steve groans, rocking his hips down. They kiss until they need to break for air, the rhythm of their hips picks up speed and they’re both slick with sweat, panting into each other’s mouths. 

“You gonna shut up and fuck me now?” Bucky asks, murmuring into Steve’s mouth. 

“Yeah.” Steve nods, dips his tongue between Bucky’s lips. “Yeah.” 

\---

“Hey,” Bucky says, patting Steve’s ass. He tries to sit up, but Steve is sprawled completely over him. 

Steve turns his head, pressing his face against Bucky’s neck, but otherwise doesn’t move. 

Bucky grins. “I know you’re up,” he whispers. 

“‘M not,” Steve mumbles, lips moving against Bucky’s skin. 

Bucky snorts and rolls his head to the side. “You sure?” 

Steve blows a weak raspberry at the spot behind Bucky’s ear, and then chuckles quietly. 

Bucky’s laughing before Steve’s lips leave his skin. He hitches a leg up around Steve’s waist, grinning at Steve’s sharp intake of breath. 

“Yeah, you’re up,” Bucky murmurs with a slow grind of his hips. 

Steve snorts loudly. “Really?” He shifts to prop himself up on his forearms. 

Bucky smirks. “You gonna tell me I’m wrong?” 

He smoothes his hands down Steve’s back, palming his ass and pressing their bodies closer together. 

Steve groans and rests his forehead against Bucky’s. 

“You know, you never did tell me what you did with all of our stuff.” 

“Oh right,” Bucky laughs quietly. “Forgot about that.” 

“You forgot,” Steve asks. “You forgot hiding every scrap of fabric in the house?” 

“I left the curtains,” Bucky offers. 

“Thanks.” 

“Any time,” Bucky grins. “You did hide all of my underwear, you know.” 

“You have no proof of that,” Steve counters. “And in fairness, it was all of _our_ underwear.” 

“Mmm, noticed you left yourself a safety net underneath the pillow.” 

“My motto is to always be prepared,” Steve reasons. 

Bucky yanks his head back and gives Steve a pointed look. 

“When situation permits?” Steve shrugs. 

Bucky shakes his head and presses a palm to Steve’s face, which Steve happily licks until Bucky pulls his hand away. 

“You’re an ass,” Bucky grumbles. 

“So you keep telling me.” 

“Could have sworn I heard you complaining about my preparedness earlier.” 

Steve wriggles his hips and Bucky hisses. “That was more about the phrasing. I’d never fault you for being prepared, Buck.” 

“Asshole,” Bucky laughs. 

“Yeah, well, takes one to know one.” 

\---

“Buck, this class is five hours long,” Steve says, thumbing through the event invite on his phone. 

“It’s the last one Señora Vega’s teaching until after Christmas,” Bucky shrugs. “She’s the best of all the instructors we’ve had.” 

Steve nods in agreement. “You’re not wrong. Five hours, though?” 

“It’s a full Thanksgiving dinner. That about right for the time it’ll take to cook a turkey big enough to feed both of us.” 

“Are Helen and Edna going?” 

Bucky bites his lips to keep from laughing. “Am I not enough for you, Steven?” 

Steve shoots him an unimpressed look. “We’ll see how the turkey turns out.” 

Helen and Edna are at the Thanksgiving class, as it turns out. The four settle at a table together and are quickly assigned the tasks of peeling potatoes and preparing ingredients for several other side dishes. 

“My children arrive this weekend,” Edna chirps with delight. 

“That sounds nice,” Steve smiles and tosses another swirl of potato peel into the sink. 

“Are you gonna do this all over again?” Bucky laughs, gesturing to the various groups in mid-prep on different recipes around the kitchen. 

Helen chuckles. “We do this every year,” she says, waving a hand at him. “Both of our families get together for the big holidays,” Edna nods. 

“We’d never finish a meal if they didn’t!” Helen laughs, nudging a bony elbow into Steve’s ribs. 

Steve frowns. “Why take a class, then?” he asks. “Not that we don’t love spending time with you both.” 

The women share a smile. 

“It’s nice to learn to do something in a different way,” Edna shrugs. “I’ve always made Thanksgiving and Passover dinner for my family, but this year, I get to surprise them a little.“ 

“Besides, how many games of Canasta can we really play in a week?” Helen jokes. 

“I hear a lot of laughter and chatter over here,” Señora Vega notes as she surveys their table. “I hope the class will not be deprived of their mashed potatoes and stuffing.” 

“Señora, we have the two best chefs in the class,” Bucky winks at Edna before turning his easy grin on their teacher. “Other than you, of course.” 

Edna, Helen, and Steve all roll their eyes in unison. 

Señora Vega settles a hand on her hip, and purses her lips at Bucky, who only grins wider. 

“Was he always like this, Mr. Rogers?” 

“Since he was seven years old, ma’am,” Steve sighs. 

\---

Bucky’s tired and sore when he finally makes it back home from an early December mission. He slowly shuffles into the house and pauses at the entryway to the kitchen. Steve is standing at the stove in his underwear, eating from a pot with a wooden spoon. Bucky takes a moment to appreciate the stretch of black and white printed cotton over the curve of Steve’s ass. 

“I knew the cow-print would look good on you,” Bucky says, his voice a bit raw with exhaustion. 

Steve smirks around his spoon. “You eat?” 

Bucky half shrugs and lets his bag slip from his shoulder to the floor. “Couple of hours ago.” 

“Go shower,” Steve says. “I’ll make you something.” 

Bucky nods, heaving himself away from the wall and heading for the bedroom. 

“Anything you’re definitely not in the mood for?” Steve calls out. 

Bucky pauses, mulling over the peanut butter and jelly he’d randomly started craving on the ride home. He turns around and takes a few steps back toward the kitchen. 

“What are you eating?” he asks, peering at the pot Steve’s holding. 

“Beans,” Steve replies, and punctuates it with a thunderclap-like fart. 

Bucky chews at the inside of his cheek and nods. “Sounds about right.” 

“What,” Steve shrugs. “They’re spicy. Here, try.” He dips into the pot, bringing a spoonful out and lifting it to Bucky’s mouth. 

“Oh, that is good,” Bucky groans appreciatively and licks his lips. He waves his hand for another bite. “Is there bacon in that?”’ 

Steve plants a kiss on Bucky’s cheek and turns back toward the stove. “Go shower and change. I’ll heat up some stuff.” 

Bucky emerges from the bedroom twenty minutes later feeling relaxed and happy. He shuffles into the kitchen, molds his chest to Steve’s back and leans heavily against him. 

“Dinner?” Bucky mumbles. 

“You want me to bring it to the table, or were you hoping for some sort of osmosis?” Steve teases. 

Bucky presses a raspberry to Steve’s shoulder and steps away. “Here, let me,” he takes the bowls and cutlery Steve’s put out on the counter and brings them over to the table. “What else?” 

“Sit,” Steve waves at him. “I’ve got the rest.” 

Bucky shuffles back over to the counter and sneaks a hand into the bowl of salad Steve’s just finished. He plucks out a cherry tomato and tosses it into his mouth. “You eating?” 

“Would you sit?” Steve laughs. 

“I’m helping,” Bucky explains, “You obviously slaved over the stove all day.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s some beans and a salad. You were on a mission. Pretty sure you’ve done your part.” 

Bucky goes for another tomato but Steve nudges him away with a chuckle. “Quit it.” 

“I’m hungry.” 

“Then sit down and let me put this on the table,” Steve laughs. 

Bucky puffs out a heavy sigh and goes to slump into a chair while Steve brings the food over. They dish salad into their bowls and scoop some beans onto their plates. Steve watches in amusement as Bucky hungrily shovels food into his mouth. 

“You weren’t kidding,” Steve mutters. 

“You gonna eat in your underwear?” Bucky chokes out around a mouthful of beans. “God, this is so good.” 

“Me in my underwear or the beans?” 

Bucky snorts and cocks an eyebrow at Steve. “Both.” 

“I can take ‘em off if you prefer,” Steve casually suggests. 

Bucky sits back and kicks his feet up onto Steve’s lap. “After dinner,” he grins before frowning at the pot of beans on the table. “How much of this did you eat?” 

Steve smirks, lifting a heaping spoon to his lips. “I guess you’ll find out.” 

“Mmm,” Bucky nods, a cocky grin on his lips. “‘Cause it’s real hot when you get a case of the farts during sex.” 

“That was one time,” Steve groans, dropping his spoon to his plate. 

Bucky snorts and spoons beans off his own plate. “Never seen you so red in my life.” 

“Christ,” Steve mutters, dragging his hands over his face and letting them drop into his lap. He watches Bucky continue to chuckle at the memory until it turns into a full blown laughing fit. 

“You—” Bucky tries and can’t finish without cracking up. He waves his hand and throws his head back. 

“I’m glad you’re still so amused,” Steve comments, trying and failing to keep from laughing, himself. 

“Relax, pal,” Bucky pants out eventually, catching his breath and looking at Steve with an easy smile. “I’m pretty sure we’ve well surpassed any threshold for embarrassment that could have existed between us.” 

Steve shakes his head and smiles, fond. “I love you, you know?” 

Bucky’s smile grows wider. “Yeah, I know.” 

\---

“Not that I’m complaining, but I thought we weren’t gonna take any more classes before Christmas,” Bucky says, lazily scrolling through his phone during breakfast. 

Steve lowers his coffee mug and peers over at the screen. “Did you read the description?” 

“Holiday Treats,” Bucky murmurs. “Cookies, cakes, and oh Christ.” He looks up and Steve is beaming. “Should we double check to make sure you can’t actually get diabetes?” 

“I think I’ll be okay.” 

“Do we even have room for the amount of candy you’ll make if you learn how to make candy?” 

Steve gives him the finger. 

“Could be good for gifts. I have no idea what the fuck to get everyone, otherwise,” Bucky reasons. 

“That’s a good idea,” Steve nods. “Although obviously we’re also giving socks and underwear to everyone.” 

“Socks, underwear, and candy,” Bucky nods. “Obviously.” 

\---

Christmas at the Tower is usually an affair to remember, but the private team moments are the ones Steve really treasures. Well, most of them. 

“Oh good, maybe Pep will let us open presents now,” Tony greets them with a bottle in each hand as they exit the elevator. 

“Pep!” He calls out over his shoulder, “The Frosty Treats are here, is it—” 

“Tony, please,” Pepper sighs as she joins them. 

“What’d I do?” Tony shrugs. 

“You’ve been nagging me like a small child since five this morning,” Pepper says, rubbing her temples. “Not to mention—“ 

“Okay, okay, I’ll be good,” Tony turns on a quick grin. “Drinks?” 

“Yes, please,” Pepper grumbles. 

“I’m okay for now,” Steve nods. “Thanks, Tony.” 

“Same,” Bucky says. 

Pepper turns to them with an apologetic smile after Tony has walked away. 

“I’m sorry about that,” she says, leaning in to kiss them each on the cheek. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him today. He’s literally acting like a kid at Christmas.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky chuckles. “This one acts the same pretty much every year.” 

“Hey,” Steve says, feigning insult. He gives Bucky a soft punch to the shoulder. “That’s a blatant lie, Pepper. I am the height of maturity.”

“When the height is sitting on the floor,” Bucky nods. 

Pepper giggles at their banter. 

“Oh,” she sighs happily. “I’ve been needing a laugh since this morning.” 

“I’m sure he’ll calm down once everyone’s here and entertaining him,” Steve says, squeezing her arm. 

Pepper nods, and points at the bags they’ve set down at their feet. “You can put those under the tree if you’d like.” 

“Sounds good,” Bucky grins, scooping up one bag and handing Steve the other. 

They head into the common area, but come to a quick halt as they enter the room. 

“Did we miss something on the invite?” Bucky mutters. 

Steve frowns, opening his mouth and closing it again. “I hope not.” 

“You’re late,” Natasha coos, brushing past them with a drink in her hand as if there’s nothing odd going on. 

Steve looks around. “Sam’s not here yet, so not that late.” 

“So we’re not gonna talk about,” Bucky nods toward where Bruce and Clint are sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. 

Natasha rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her drink. “Don’t get me started.” 

“I kind of think we have to,” Steve says. 

“It’s your fault,” Natasha responds, crunching an ice cube between her teeth. 

Steve looks at the two on the sofa and then back to Natasha. “ _That_ cannot possibly be my fault.” 

“You think hard about that while you put those presents under the tree,” Natasha says. She turns away and settles herself into a large, cushioned chair, kicking her legs over the armrest. “Mine better be good.” 

Bucky and Steve look at one another and shrug. They bring their bags over to the massive Christmas tree in the corner of the room, carefully tuck their gifts beneath it with all the others, and head over to the kitchen to grab some beers. 

“HO HO HO MERRY CHRISTMA— OH, Jesus Christ,” Sam stops short in front of the sofa where Bruce and Clint are sitting. 

He casts a wide-eyed look around the room, but nobody offers an explanation. Steve shrugs as Bucky simultaneously throws up his hands. 

Bruce finally looks up from the book he’s been reading and sighs. 

“This Santa suit was the only article of clothing left in my apartment,” he says, quietly explaining his outfit. 

Bucky eyes Steve suspiciously, but Steve gives a quick _not me_ head shake. 

“Okay,” Sam nods. “Okay. That doesn’t explain why Barton is _completely_ naked, though.” 

Clint finishes chewing the handful of popcorn he’s just shoveled into his mouth. 

“A Santa thong was the only article of clothing left in my room,” Clint says, as if the answer should have been obvious. “You know how uncomfortable those things are?” 

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose for a second and looks up at Steve. 

“How is this my fault?” Steve asks. “I haven’t been here in over a week.” 

Bucky looks at his phone. “No way he’s been walking around naked for that long without Stark setting up a live feed.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes. “The cow thong?” 

Steve throws up his hands. “Nat, you’ve gotta pick your moments.” 

“And your victims,” Bucky adds. 

“Hey, Merry Christmas, guys, sorry I’m late I was—” Hill stops short in front of Clint, who’s on his way for a popcorn refill. 

“What?” Clint shrugs, continuing past her. “It’s not like none of you have seen it.” 

Pepper clears her throat. “Um, I had not,” she says. “Previously.” 

Natasha raises her glass. “Merry Christmas.” 

Sam strolls over and hands a glass to Hill. “Merry Christmas, Maria.” 

“All right, then,” Maria sighs, clinking her glass against Sam’s. “I guess I haven’t missed anything important.” 

“Tony!” Pepper cries out, calling everyone’s attention to where Tony is sitting, on the floor by the foot of the Christmas tree, having just torn open one of his presents. 

“Come on, are we really doing the whole ‘wait for Christmas’ thing? We’re all adults with busy lives,” he reasons, looking pointedly around the room. “We should be able to open our presents without waiting for a magic man in a red suit.” 

Pepper rolls her eyes. 

“If it’s that important, I’ll go put on mine,” Tony grins. 

“I think Bruce has you covered,” Sam offers. 

“I was hoping you’d at least wait for everyone,” Pepper admonishes. 

Tony gestures around the room. “Everyone’s here!” 

“I meant to open the—” Pepper puts a hand over her eyes. “Oh, never mind.” 

“Don’t worry, Pepper,” Sam chuckles. “I got nieces and nephews around his age level. I know what it’s like.” 

“I feel like I should be offended by that,” Tony chimes, not looking away from the stack of boxes in front of him. 

“You should,” Sam and Pepper say, in unison. 

Pepper gives Sam a grateful smile. “All right, then, I guess it’s time for presents.” 

“Heads up!” Tony yells, just before tossing a gift at Sam. 

“You better watch,” Sam warns him, catching the box in the air. 

“Relax,” Tony winks and nods at the box in Sam’s hands. “That one’s from me. You’ll like it.” 

Sam shakes his head, but not without a smile. “Thanks, Tony.” 

Bucky, Sam, and Steve dutifully go about sorting all of the gifts and stacking them into piles near their recipients. 

“Helpful little elves, aren’t they,” Natasha murmurs to Maria, once they each have a hefty stack of presents set before them. 

“Santa doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Maria chuckles. 

Steve settles down on the sofa between Natasha and Bucky. He hands one last gift to Natasha and then pulls a box from his stack onto his lap. To his left, he notices Natasha pause and knows immediately whom the gift is from. 

“Relax,” she whispers. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

“That’s not reassuring,” Steve quips, carefully unwrapping the box and setting the paper aside. 

Steve lifts the lid on the box and drops it closed again. 

“Jesus,” he huffs, rubbing his temples and laughing quietly. 

Bucky reaches over, lifts the lid with a finger, snorts and drops it again. “Serves you right.” 

Natasha sips her drink and sets it down on the coffee table. “Figured you might as well have a matching set.” 

Steve fixes her with wry grin. “Buck, gimme your phone for a sec.” 

Bucky digs into his pocket and hands his phone to Steve, leaning forward a bit to smile at Natasha. “Enjoy,” he says. 

Steve scrolls through Bucky’s phone for a few seconds while Natasha watches him curiously. Finally, Steve finds what he’s looking for. He peers around the room, but the others are all engrossed in their presents and conversation. 

“A picture is worth a thousand words,” Steve murmurs, and angles the screen slightly so Natasha can see the photo: Steve, flexing like a power lifter in the middle of the kitchen, wearing only the cow thong. 

Natasha’s eyes sparkle as she bites back a smile. She leans forward and looks at Bucky. 

“Well done,” she says, nodding at the phone as Steve hands it back to Bucky. 

“In more ways than one,” Bucky replies. “And Merry Christmas.” 

“Do I get it framed?” Natasha smirks. 

“No,” both Bucky and Steve answer in unison. 

“Do I get to see a matching photo of Barnes?” 

Bucky side-eyes her. “Maybe.” 

“Holy shit,” Tony exclaims, drawing everyone’s attention. “Mmmph, so good, holy—” he garbles around a mouthful of whatever treat he’s unwrapped. 

“Do we need to leave you and your chocolates alone?” Bruce politely asks. 

“You say that, but you haven’t tried them,” Tony manages, then groans again and bites into another. 

“Rogers, Barnes, where did you get these? I need to franchise the bakery for the Tower.” 

“Did you get all of us chocolate?” Natasha asks, carefully inspecting each truffle in the box she’s just unwrapped. 

“I got cookies,” Clint supplies, mouth stuffed with at least three. “And these,” he adds, pointing to the Santa-themed boxers he was now wearing. 

“You’re welcome,” Bucky says, looking pointedly around the room. 

Pepper holds up her glass in salute. 

“Oh, these are good,” Maria mutters, staring at the half piece of chocolate she’s just bitten into. 

“Spill, soldier boys,” Tony demands. “I need the name of this place.” 

Everyone looks at Steve and Bucky expectantly. 

Steve opens and closes his mouth, turning to Bucky with a small crease between his brows. Bucky shrugs. 

“We, uh, took a few classes,” Steve explains. 

“Over the past few months,” Bucky adds. “It wasn’t some instant thing.” 

Tony is staring at them, frozen mid-chew. “You two actually made these.” Tony says, gesturing to the various boxes of cookies and chocolates they each hold in their laps. 

Steve shrugs. “Yep.” 

“No way. These are—” Tony bites into another truffle. “This is quality. Like boutique, high-end stuff. You two didn’t suddenly start mass producing fine chocolates in your City Island kitchen.” 

“We are two extremely skilled individuals,” Bucky deadpans. 

Tony stares at him. “Get the fuck out of here.” 

“They’re not store-bought,” Natasha observes, turning a piece of dark chocolate topped with ganache over to examine it. “They’re too imperfect.” 

“That meant to be an insult?” Bucky asks, and takes a swig from his beer. 

Steve frowns. “They’re not meant to be perfect, just—” 

“Relax, Rogers,” Natasha grins. “It wasn’t an insult. I was just trying to back up your claim.” 

“Just what?” Sam asks, and then makes an appreciative noise, having just bitten into a cookie from his gift box. 

“Hmm?” Steve’s head snaps up to where Sam is sitting. 

“You said ‘they’re not meant to be perfect, just–’” Sam reminds him. “Just what?” 

“Just good,” Steve says, turning up his hands. “So, hope you guys all like them.” 

Bucky lifts his beer. “Cheers.” 

“Does this mean you two do catering now?” Tony asks.

“I just wanna remind you, one time, that this was your idea,” Bucky says. 

Steve whips around to look at him. “ _My_ idea?” 

“You signed us up for the class,” Bucky nods. 

“ _You_ said they’d make good holiday gifts,” Steve follows. “I would have left it at socks and underwear.” 

“An excellent choice,” Pepper chimes in. 

“Thank you, Pepper,” Steve nods. 

“You agreed with me,” Bucky reminds. “About the holiday gifts.” 

“So where are we on the catering?” Clint asks. “‘Cause I’m gonna need at least twelve boxes of these cookies.” 

Bucky laughs. “Oh, only twelve?” 

Clint tilts his head in thought. “I guess I could plow through a double order. Unless they’d last a month.” 

“Barton, we need to address the fact that you’d eat twenty four boxes of cookies in a month,” Sam comments. “But aside from that,” he looks toward Steve and Bucky. “Are y’all taking orders? ‘Cause I want in.” 

“We’re not the Girl Scouts,” Steve laughs.

“Forty bucks for a box of chocolates, 12 pieces,” Natasha says. “Twenty five for the cookies, box of—“ she looks up for a second, calculating. “Ten, depending on the kind.” 

“What?” She shrugs at the look Bucky and Steve give her. “I’m enterprising. And I’ll take twenty percent off the top.” 

“Sold,” Tony yells, tossing his empty chocolate box onto the coffee table. “I’ll take five of those. How much for express service?” 

“How did you get the consistency so,” Sam flails his hand around and bites into another cookie. “What’s the secret ingredient?” 

Bucky looks him dead in the eye. “Love,” he says, blankly. 

“That’s gross, man,” Sam points at him. “Don’t ever do that again.” 

“But it’s true,” Steve adds, voice dipping low. “So much love, Sam.” 

\---

“Pretty sure our dog got more Christmas gifts than we did,” Steve says as he slips a t-shirt over Roscoe’s head. 

They laugh when she hops off the sofa and spins in an excited circle, then hops back up and sprawls out on her favorite cushion. 

Bucky flops down beside Steve, leaning heavily against him. Steve wriggles his arm behind Bucky’s back and sneaks a hand under his shirt, fingers lazily tracing circles on warm skin. 

“You got that nice thong from Nat, though,” Bucky grins. “That’s something.” 

“That one’s yours, pal,” Steve sighs, giving Bucky a soft pinch. “I’ve already broken the other one in.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Unless you’ve been secretly wearing it, I don’t think less than thirty minutes counts as breaking it in.” 

“There’s no way you could last thirty minutes in that thing,” Steve mutters. 

“That a challenge, Rogers?” Bucky asks with a cocky grin. 

“No,” Steve shrugs. “It’s a fact.” 

Bucky bites his lips and nods. “Okay.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You think you can last longer than I can?” 

“Well, I think I can last longer than thirty minutes,” Bucky says. 

Steve huffs, drops his head back against the sofa cushion, and closes his eyes. Bucky silently counts the seconds in his head. He makes it to seven before Steve’s throwing himself off the sofa and stomping toward the bedroom. Bucky nods his head, folding his hands across his stomach. Steve returns in less than a minute, the matching cow thongs clutched in his fist. He tosses one at Bucky’s chest. 

“What do I get if I win?” Bucky asks, mildly. 

“What do you want?” Steve challenges. 

Bucky stretches the thong’s elastic between his hands and grins. 

\---

Steve squints an eye open, just a tiny slit, mentally preparing himself for the glare of the digital clock they keep on the nightstand. It’s still too bright when he turns to read 3:18AM on the screen, and he winds up squeezing his eyes closed and seeing the color against the backs of his eyelids. 

It takes a second for him to remember what woke him up, but then it comes hurtling back with the intense pressure of Bucky’s thigh pressed against his bladder. 

Slowly, Steve lifts Bucky’s right arm from his chest and begins the tedious process of attempting to extract himself from beneath Bucky’s sleeping form without waking him. 

Just as he’s managed to move Bucky’s arm, Bucky’s grumbling plaintively and weakly slapping at Steve’s face. 

“Nnnn-nnh, five more minutes,” Bucky slurs, face half buried in his pillow. 

“Buck,” Steve whispers, somewhat urgently, “Lemme up.” He pushes at Bucky’s thigh, still clamped around his hips. 

Bucky mumbles incoherently, but otherwise doesn’t budge from his comfortable position — on his stomach, half on top of Steve, effectively pinning him to the bed. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Steve sighs, then reaches over and twists Bucky’s nipple, hard. 

Bucky yowls and immediately curls onto his right side, facing away from Steve, “Playing dirty, Rogers.” 

“Dirty would have been not letting me up to piss,” Steve yawns and rolls out of bed. 

He’s halfway to the bathroom when his foot gets caught in the pair of jeans Bucky had casually tossed on the floor earlier. Steve curses loudly as he goes down, managing to break his fall before he’s face first in a pile of Bucky’s dirty clothes. The noise sends Roscoe scampering from her bed up onto theirs. Bucky snorts from somewhere beneath their blanket. Steve kicks the clothes out of the way, perhaps with more force than necessary, but the sound of them hitting the wall and sliding down is somewhat satisfying. 

By the time he crawls back into bed, Bucky has cocooned himself into their comforter with not an inch to spare. Steve shovels his hand under Bucky’s lower back, trying to dig out a corner of the blanket for himself. Bucky wriggles in his blanket burrito, loosening it until Steve crawls under and spoons up against his back. 

Bucky tangles his hand with Steve’s and tucks them beneath his chin. 

“D’you hurt yourself?” Bucky murmurs. 

“M’fine,” Steve mumbles, already on his way back to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://sheisraging.tumblr.com) and be amazed at how many photos of Chris Evans I can reblog in one week! Feel free to subscribe to this series for updates!


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